Best Motor Poems
Intact I am math,
but in a blast I run fast-
somewhere above the tree line
I am seen as fine,
but inside I am tried.
The weather doesn't help locate a song,
so I hop on a motorcycle to get gone,
I soon crash into a nearby tree,
and lay on the ground for weeks.
The sooner I come home-
the lesser I learn how to grow,
and its never anything but my last breathe of shine that I felt my teeth grind,
gashing the enemy-
the way of the blind,
organic and prime,
my weaknesses don't show,
so I am fine.
And while feeling fine,
in an interesting wine,
I smell the pine,
it aches within me-
raking at my earliest pillory-
so I walk on pleased,
get paid,
and then go spend all my pees,
with this withering game of time,
I get hexed to know some of mine,
but I soon stop,
eager to drop,
1,2,3, and then four,
four strips,
one token,
and two years unspoken,
where I turn and spin in the door,
a splendid welcome to adore!
What shores have washed away from the pores!
What course I have taken to learn how to adore!
But there is a land I lived in alive-
but it just wasn't my find,
I was there,
but it wasn't my mind...
I wish I could scream!
Feel mean!
Go away unnoticed!
Then re-arrive climbing in trees!
Birds eat the bees,
lizards the breeze,
but character never breeds,
its gotta be seen-
understood,
spoken and then dreamed,
before you wake to it,
just like she made ya do it,
and you jerked yourself through it,
started ta loosin' it,
got loaded,
and became a rude influence.
motorcycle roars
penetrating the quiet night
shattering the silence
aircraft on the runway
jet engines scream before lift off
to the clouds above
on the waterfront
ocean liner calling her flock
- the loud blaring horn
Seventy degrees in Canada in October
Think I've been drinking but I'm totally sober
Take it while we can
Cold weather's soon at hand
Enjoy! Enjoy! This sure charges one's motor
© Jack Ellison 2015
Beetles on wheels
Carrying lazy men or women
On their dead backs
There must be a better way to start each day
Than waking up each morning, what do you say
In the arms of girlie
Now that would surely
Start my motor a-purring in a delightful way
We know all roads lead to Rome
So you drive a posh Motor Home
For goodness sake
Elate your mate
And lose that damn garden gnome!
2016 Motor City Open Champion
It has to happened, this day has to come...
When a low ranking player defied the odds as they come..
In a place called the Motor City, showcasing a world squash tournament...
All the the world's best men squash players are gathered in numbers...
Ranked a modest 22 in the world ,there was Ali Farag from Egypt ..
Aged 23, he is a another young squash player from the Land Of The Pyramids..
Last year he was a 88th in world rankings, was knocked out in the 1st round..
Having won 3 PSA tournaments prior to Motor City, now he was a different man...
Ranked 7th in this Motor City Tournament, Ali Farag had a daunting path indeed...
For in the second round, there was the world number one , Mohd El Shorbagy...
Facing a young man stout in heart and full of confidence, Shorbagy was rattled...
The young turk, an upstart by his standards, was of the same high standard..
Shorbagy took the first, a close one it was, only to trailed in the next 2 games...
Shorbagy as world number one, he gave a mighty effort and won the 4th game..
Going into the final 5th game, no quarter was given, none were asked...
Point for point, they fought, probed each other's game as they rallied till the last...
The young Ali Farag, he showed the mettle of a champion to knock out his rival..
A final 12-10 win, and he has created the biggest upset win of this tournament....
Next round was the semifinals, world no.9 Mathieu Castagnet, a Frenchman ...
Ali Farag fought and rallied hard, emerging a 3-1 winner after a long 78 minutes..
When the finals next came along, highly experienced Nick Matthew was The Man...
As world no.3 squash superstar, Nick was just as eager to be a winner,...
Youth versus experience, a young upstart going up against the 35 year old Nick....
It was an engrossing match of top quality squash that lasted all but 50 minutes...
For when the chips were down and curtains about to fell, the youthful Ali Farag..
He presevered and showed his class, bedazzling Nick Matthew 3-1 in 50 minutes..
So it has come to past, the youngest ever champion there in Motor City Open...
Ali Farag from Egypt, he took out 3 top-10 players to emerge 2016 champion!!!!
WOW !!!
Betty was a Motor bus
She was the smartest ever seen
Painted in a scarlet red
With pretty wheels of khaki green
Life was dull for Betty bus
She ran the same route every day
Then Betty had a great idea
She turned and drove the other way
So then one wintery afternoon
She decided she would play a tune
How her shoppers laughed with glee
They made Betty a busy bee
So, when one day your sad, or glum
Or life becomes a bore
Then come aboard old Betty's bus
You'll want to ride her more and more
Mouthy
Blabby
Walking
Talking
Nonstop
Rude flop
Chatty
Hatty
One nerve-wracking race
Is motor bike cliff climbing
Grand finesse with grace.
As I get older I’m taking a liking
To relive my youth and go motor biking
To pull back the throttle and kick down the gear
And tear up the highway, just like yesteryear
My hair flowing free as I ride without care
My wife put me straight, ‘You ain’t got any hair.’
I told her there’s one thing that time never steals
The rush that a man only feels on two wheels
And out on the road in all my old leathers
My gas driven steed shall vanquish all weathers
I’ll ride and I’ll ride till my legs are like jelly
She said that those leathers won’t cover that belly
Give me dirt on my face and flies in my teeth
Akin to a cow-herder out driving beef
The pounding of pistons driving me on
The joy of not knowing where to or where from
She said okay go be a speeding banshee
But don’t go too far in case you need to pee
I had to relent there’ll be no pennies spent
I can’t blame the wife, her thoughts were well meant
Don’t wanna get caught short in skin hugging leathers
There’s must be more ways to escape boredom’s tethers
And so this is me, not wild and not free
Just a wannabe biker writing bike poetry
An abode you can drive down a road is a trip,
but the learning curve’s steep. It’s a help to be rich,
strong, and good with your hands (for things often go wrong
that you will not expect). All support’s a trip too:
fun can stop for repairs - your transmission goes out
at some watering hole where you’re barely a guest.
A rebuilt one located takes days to arrive.
You’re hung out on a limb with relationships cash-
based, though credit cards help. With a vaporware smile
and some luck, a motel has a room you can wait.
At some point, you’ll be glad a towed car’s on your plate
for just parking a motor home can take a while.
Overnights on the streets of a city are rash,
but a grocery store parking lot helps one survive
for a night in a pinch. Cops uncalled, let you rest.
If you buy some supplies, it will give you more clout.
I am happy I bought mine though big trips were few.
A gas engine, no slide-outs, I stole for a song
in year slide-outs and diesel were salesmen’s fresh pitch.
But low tag fees, no property tax floats my ship!
Farms have Quonsets to soften Dakota through time,
hide from hail, sun, and blizzards, a part of the year.
Coach revives, as my residence, when I am there
with the usual hookups, propane, and TV.
But one April, the snow where it parks saw a drift
that eclipsed a man’s height more than corn grows (rains bless).
Weeks would pass till it melted, ground firmed, spring wheat drilled!
But the highways kept clear, a spot found I could park
where Missouri’s clear waters reflected cloud’s path,
and fish leaped as they struck hard and tasted hook’s bait.
I’m a poet who frequents cast lines till they rhyme
and replace my lost bait with a new thought as dear.
Souls and poems will bloom that we offer our care
though we see droughts occur and earth’s water’s not chi.
May some readers drift with me when words are a gift,
have a color they own that eclipses their dress.
Bait rejected? God bless! If you chow down, I’m thrilled.
Who would want to burn rubber alone in the dark?
With a transparent purpose, I don’t fear God’s wrath.
Pray rhymed sojourns bring respite, share love, and not hate.
Brian Johnston
12th of September in 2021
Poet’s Note:
A new metered poem that uses what I call ‘distant rhyme.’
Here, the word I drop for Travelers “Hark!”
Where offended driver begins to bark:
“Why should you there your Stupid Volvo park?”
The bared teeth of speaker those of a shark;
If he sank them in one’s flesh the same mark,
Now cursing one, next singing like a lark…
Hurry not if destination is Park,
Not the Amusements, I mean: Motor Park!
Where wires of new licensed cars spark,
Your pockets picked while Daylight was still stark,
Fights ignited last until it is dark:
Preachers surface to dwell on Noah’s Ark…
Where one meets with Comedian Passengers,
By their sides Satan’s Soft Messengers…
For thee a tried Nigerian Motor Park,
In which had been displayed Award Gold Plaque…
The outboard chugged along
toward the end of the lake
where the tall peaks were.
When the motor cut, all was still.
Then snowcapped mountains
began to rise-up from the lake;
eagles flew under our hull.
Imagine staring at your float,
humped like a heron over the bow
while a panoramic sky
moved under your boots.
Imagine Rainbow trout
sailing around the sun.
No way to catch that.
I pointed to a little motor inside me
My teacher shook her head
Said, 'No such thing, no such name'
Left her classroom burning with shame
All the same I heard it a-whirring and purring
Directing my footsteps, so reassuring
Though not on a path my teacher would like
I felt it touch my soul, almost dreamlike
Never did I return to that cursed classroom
I needed my freedom so I could bloom
My motor inside would propel me to heights
~ no longer beholden to artificial light